Little Sister
by Aussie73
Summary: Mark Carter gets to know Jack O'Neill after Jacob's funeral. Slight SJ. Rated T for language.


_I've read a lot of fics where Mark Carter is portrayed as a jerk. Yes …he's got issues about the Air Force and blames Jacob for his mother's death. But so did Sam for a while. And Mark hasn't had the last seven years' closeness that Sam managed with Jacob. So this is my take on making him into a nice guy. And if anyone can come up with a better title for this thing, I'd be grateful. I have more difficulty naming my fics than writing them most of the time!_

* * *

My little sister.

Tall, strong, a doctor of theoretical astrophysics and a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Air Force.

But she would always be my little sister.

I stood with my wife and kids watching Dad's coffin being lowered gently into the ground, then stared as several Marines folded a flag into a neat triangle, presenting it to Sam.

I'd always hated the military, but this ceremony was actually pretty touching.

Sam took the flag stoically — or seemingly so — but I knew her better. Behind that military officer was a little girl who'd lost her dad. Next to her stood a tall officer with gray hair; a General, I think — I wasn't familiar with Air Force ranks. He didn't hug her or anything; just stood a little closer to her.

She looked up at him and gave him a slightly watery smile. Sam had always been able to talk with her eyes — half my friends had fallen for her just for her eyes. Including Pete.

I frowned slightly, still mystified as to why they'd suddenly broken up. They'd been engaged, for God's sake, and Pete was crazy about her. I'd asked Pete if he knew, and he'd just mumbled something about wishing it had just been Dad's death that had caused it.

Once the ceremony was over, I shepherded my little family back into the station wagon, and followed the cavalcade of cars that was making its way to the house of Sam's CO. He'd offered his house, as apparently it was bigger than Sam's, and because he'd known my Dad too. Huh; maybe military officers weren't always jerks.

Then I sighed. Of course they weren't — George Hammond was a really good guy and I liked him a lot. I'd hated the military for such a long time; maybe it was time I tried to look past my prejudices.

We pulled up outside a pretty house in a quiet area near the woodlands. The house was charming in a way that I'd never expected for a military man and it surprised me. I ushered the kids out of the car and knocked on the door.

The same guy who'd stood next to Sam at the ceremony opened the door. That had to be her CO … what was his name again? "C'mon in," he said.

We all walked in and hung our coats up on the pegs, my daughter staring up at the tall officer with fascination, batting her big blue eyes at him. She was the spitting image of Sam at that age — I'd often joked that she could have been Sam's clone rather than just her niece.

The man smiled down at her and Gracie was a goner. "Hey, gorgeous; what's your name?" he said.

She held up her arms and the man bent his long frame and scooped her up effortlessly. "Gracie Carter," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him affectionately.

That was surprising — Gracie was usually quite shy with strangers. "Gracie Rose; you little hussy," I teased her.

"You must be Mark," the man continued, presenting his free hand to me. "I'm Jack O'Neill; I knew your dad very well."

"Well, at least one of us did." Then I sighed. Seems my mouth was in 'drive' while my brain was still stuck in 'neutral'. "Sorry," I added. "It was good of you to offer your place for the wake." I touched my son's shoulder. "You've met Gracie Rose" — I nodded to my little blonde hussy who had unashamedly tucked her head into Jack's neck — "and this is Michael."

"Hey, Michael." Jack held out his hand to my eight year old son, who really appreciated the man to man gesture. "You know how to play Super Mario?"

"Of course!" my son said. "I kick ass … uh, butt," he said, trying to forestall my scolding.

"Hah," Jack replied. "I am the Super Mario god," he intoned. "And I will whip your butt."

I looked at the man, surprised. He was older than me — late forties, maybe even early fifties — yet he looked so young as he teased Michael and hugged Gracie. And the rapport he had with my kids … I loved the little buggers to bits, of course, but I wasn't comfortable with other people's kids the way Jack seemed to be.

Michael let out an inelegant snort. "Betcha you won't!"

I snickered into the back of my hand, then reached up to brush aside some curls that had fallen into Gracie's eye. Karen nudged me less than subtly, then put her hand out to Jack. "I'm Karen Carter," she said. "I understand you're Sam's CO?"

"Yeah," Jack said simply. "Nice to meet you." He gestured with his free hand to a living room, where Sam sat on a couch with a man sitting almost protectively on each side of her. "Go … speak to her," he added, shifting Gracie upward slightly so that she now perched on his hip. "This is a time for family."

His eyes shifted slightly and I followed his gaze, noting a picture of a younger Jack with a slim blonde woman and a young boy wearing a grin that matched Jack's. Figured. The man had 'great father' written all over him. "So … when do I get to meet your family, Jack?" I asked.

Pain shot into the older man's face and I had the feeling I'd dropped a social brick. "Oh … I'm divorced," he said quietly. "And my son. He … uh … Charlie … died. A long time ago," he added.

He looked like I'd stabbed him in the heart with a rusty blade. That poor guy. I couldn't begin to imagine what that loss had done to him. As usual, though, I had no idea what to say — we Carter men could talk a lot, but never about feelings.

Gracie seemed to take after her mom's side of the family, though. She planted a kiss on Jack's cheek. "Daddy said Grampa's in Heaven," she said. "Maybe he's playing with Charlie." She rested heavily against him as he hugged her closer.

"Maybe," Jack said. He kissed her cheek, then blew a small raspberry on it, making her giggle. "Thanks, Gracie."

* * *

**Several hours later**

Gracie was now curled up in Jack's lap, sleeping peacefully, and looking like the little angel that she absolutely was not. "She really likes you," I told him.

He grinned — the grin that Sam told me she'd characterized as 'Smug Bastard Smirk #1' — and ran a gentle hand over Gracie's curls. "What can I say?" he said. "She's really cute."

"You'd think," Karen put in. "She looks like an angel now, but you wouldn't have thought so if you'd seen what she did to the DVD player. It was in a hundred pieces by the time she was done."

Jack snickered. "Takes after Aunt Sam, huh?" he teased.

"I heard that, sir," Sam said, making her way over to us. "At least I can put the things I break back together."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Getting kinda snippy there, aren't ya, Carter?" But his brown eyes were soft with affection and a tender smile pulled at his lips.

"What can I say, sir; I learned from the best," Sam replied, returning the tender smile.

My interest was piqued. Was this what Pete had been driving at when he'd muttered something into his beer about competition?

Jack's smile turned into a different smug smirk — was this #2? — and he raised his cup of coffee to her in a silent toast.

The flirtatious moment was interrupted when a very large dark man came over to us. "Mark Carter," he said, "allow me to extend my condolences upon your father's death. Jacob Carter was a great man and his passing is a great loss to your people."

"Uhh … thanks," I said uncertainly. I'd met what felt like hundreds of people today, all singing Dad's praises. The President had even sent his condolences, calling Dad a fine friend, an obdurate foe and one of the best men he'd ever known.

God … had I ever known Jacob Carter?

* * *

I looked out into the quiet garden, trying to find Sam. She'd disappeared out there about a half an hour ago, and I wanted to see if she was okay. She'd gotten a lot closer to Dad after his cancer had gone into sudden remission and her friends and I were worried about her.

I walked slowly into the dark garden and saw Sam standing with her back to me, her hands resting on a low fence. "It's not fair," she muttered.

"It never is, Carter," I heard Jack reply. The older man pulled his hands out from his pockets, then put one on her shoulder. "C'mere," he added, sliding his arm around her shoulders.

She looked up at him, then allowed herself to lean up against him. She rested her head on his shoulder and slid an arm round his waist. "Thank you, sir," she said.

"For what?" he replied.

I'd learned over the day that Jack liked to feign ignorance. I didn't buy it. Although he didn't have degrees up the wazoo like Sam or Doctor Jackson, I knew enough about the Air Force to know that they didn't make any old idiot a General.

Seems Sam agreed. Even though it was quite dark, I was pretty sure she rolled her eyes. "Sir," she protested.

"You're welcome," he said.

Feeling absurdly like an intruder, I turned and headed back into the house.

* * *

Gracie was starting to get cranky. It had been a long day and she'd not slept very well on the flight from San Diego. She curled up in Jack's lap and stubbornly refused to go to sleep. I remember Sam at that age — she'd been just the same. Terrified to go sleep in case she missed something.

I'd shared that little gem with Jack earlier and he'd given a short huff of laughter. "She hasn't changed then," he said. "Can't tell you how many times I've had to kick her out of her lab at 0300."

Which begged the question of what he was doing up at … three am. And being me, I asked it.

Jack had muttered something about her being a subordinate — he was just looking out after her. Maybe that was true, but something told me there was more than just a CO/subordinate relationship. That was how Mom and Dad had met. He'd been a Major and she'd been a Lieutenant in his unit, but she'd chosen to resign her commission so that they could be together.

Oh, good Lord; was Jack the competition Pete had referred to? Did he know it? Did even Sam know it?

"Look; why don't you stay here tonight?" Jack said. "I've got plenty of room and it'll save you trekking halfway across town to Carter's house."

I looked over at my wife and raised my eyebrows. "What d'you think?" I asked her.

She indicated the snoring Michael-shaped lump that was scrunched up near the TV. "Probably a good idea," she said.

"Then … thanks," I told Jack.

* * *

I woke up and looked blearily over at the clock, wondering why it wasn't in its usual place. Then I remembered. I was in General O'Neill's spare bedroom. I saw the sunshine beginning to peek in, then I heard water running from outside.

"Gracie! No!" I heard Karen call.

The joys of parenthood.

I sighed and got up, pulling on a pair of jeans and an old tee shirt, then headed downstairs to find out what kind of trouble my little blonde hellion had gotten herself into this time.

I followed the sounds — Karen's protests, Gracie's delighted laughter and … Jack's low chuckle — into the back garden. Gracie was … she was a mud ball. From tousled blonde curls to bare little toes. Every inch of her was covered in thick gelatinous mud and Karen was rolling up a hosepipe.

"Gracie Rose Carter; what on Earth have you done?" I said, going over to them.

She looked up at me and blew me a kiss. "Morning, Daddy," she said sweetly.

Oh yes, she knew she was in trouble all right. I wasn't going to be deterred by the big blue eyes. "What were you doing?" I asked her.

"Was trying to make myself grow up," she informed me.

Child logic. I'd never quite gotten a handle on it. "Why?" I asked, baffled.

"So I'd be a grown up," she said.

"Again; why?" Jack said, hunkering down and tilting up her little pointed chin to look her in the eyes.

She squished her muddy self into him for an oxygen-depriving neck hug. "So I can marry you," she said. "I love you."

I snickered and Karen nudged me. Hard. "You've got to admire the girl's taste," she said.

That shut me up.

"Gracie, honey; little girls don't grow up like that," Jack said, not seeming to care that he was now covered in mud too. "You'll have to wait a long, long time. But you'll become a beautiful woman one day."

"Then will you marry me?"

Persistent little bugger. I looked over at Jack to see how he was going to wriggle out of this one.

He looked back at me and his eyes narrowed, as if to say _Dead meat_. I shrugged innocently. "Oh, I'm already an old man, Gracie; you won't want anything to do with me when you're a grown up."

"Oh." She patted his cheek with a muddy hand, seeming to buy that. "What about Aunt Sam?"

Jack coughed — a short cough that reminded me of one of Sam's cats when he got a hairball. "What about her?"

"She's pretty … and you keep huggin' her," Gracie said. Had she been a yenta in a previous life?

"Well, Gracie; she's sad about Grandpa Jacob," I said, figuring it was time to bail Jack's ass out. Although I had gotten a malicious pleasure out of seeing him so dumbfounded.

"Speak of the devil," Karen said, delivering another hard nudge to my ribs. That woman so did not know her own strength.

"Morning, guys … sir," Sam said, then skidded to a halt. "Gracie Rose Carter; is that you?"

Gracie giggled. "Yeah," she said. She delivered an enthusiastic kiss to Jack's cheek and hugged his leg as he rose to his feet.

"Sir … I'm sorry," Sam began.

"A-ah!" Jack cut her off. "A garden, a five year old and a hosepipe I forgot to put away. Bound to happen." He brushed at some of the now drying mud. "Think I'll hit the shower again, though."

Bored with a conversation that was no longer about her, Gracie tugged at Karen's hand. "Mommy; I need a bath," she said.

My wife snickered. "Do you ever!" she said. "Let's go, mud-ball."

After they'd gone, Jack turned to Sam. "Seems your niece has fallen for me, Carter," Jack said, rubbing a hand through his hair.

"It's odd, sir," Sam said.

"Carter!" he whined dramatically. "I'll have you know, even at my age I can flutter a few hearts."

"Sorry, sir," Sam replied automatically — but insincerely. "She's usually very shy with strangers, but … Actually, it's not so strange."

"No?" he inquired.

"Come off it, sir; we all know how you and kids are drawn together."

Jack looked slightly embarrassed. "Well, what's wrong with loving kids?" he asked defensively. "Kids need love. Everybody does," he added softly.

Sam looked at him, her big blue eyes communicating something silently to him. And once again, I felt like an intruder.

* * *

I offered my hand to Jack. "It was very good to meet you, Jack," I told him. "If you ever come to San Diego, come by and see us."

"I will," Jack said. "I've got a date for ice cream with a cute blonde" — he ruffled Gracie's curls — "and to kick someone's ass … uh, butt … on his new X-Box."

I turned and gave Sam a hug. "You gonna be okay, kiddo?" I asked. Then I grimaced slightly; Dad had always called her that.

She returned the hug. "I will be," she said. She looked at Jack. "What time d'you want me to report tomorrow, sir?" she added.

"Oh no you don't, Carter!" he said teasingly. "Tomorrow, you, Daniel, Murray and I are heading to the land of clear blue waters, home of the loon."

"Fishing, sir?" An eyebrow tilted. "I thought there were no fish in your pond."

"Sam; it's not about the fish. It's the act of fishing," I said.

Jack looked delighted. "See! At least one of you Carters gets it," he said. Then his eyes softened. "Carter; you need a vacation. We all do."

She gave in without further argument. That surprised me. Sam had never been one for lying round doing nothing. "Actually; it sounds nice, sir," she said.

"Oh, for God's sake!" I burst out, sick of the 'sir' and 'Carter' thing. "Would you get court-martialed if you called each other by your names? Jesus, you've worked together for … what … eight years?"

Sam looked startled while 'Smug Bastard Smirk #1' settled over Jack's face. "Yeah … Sam," he taunted softly.

"Fine … Jack," she retorted, nearly purring his name. He swallowed hard and his eyes went wide.

I manfully hid my snicker, wishing I could be a fly on the wall for their vacation. Never go up against a Carter.

I ushered my family into the station wagon, then presented my hand to Jack's once more. "She'll be okay, you know," I said. "We're a tough breed."

"I know," he replied. "Your dad was just the same — stubborn old SOB." Then his eyes softened. "He was a good guy. I'm just sorry you weren't able to get to know him the last few years."

I didn't even bother to ask why. Whatever they were doing in that mountain — and I seriously doubted it had anything to do with radar telemetry — I wasn't allowed to know it. And I probably wouldn't believe it anyway. "Me too," I said. "But life's full of regrets without adding more to them."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Take care of them, Mark; you've got a good thing going."

I knew he was thinking about his ex-wife and his lost son, and I suddenly realized that this hardened soldier was a lonely man. "Thanks," I said, getting into the driver's seat and closing the door.

As I backed out of the driveway, I saw my little sister go over to him. He looked at her with a tender smile — not a smirk — and they began talking. Then his arm went round her shoulders, while hers went round his waist.

I smiled slightly. Maybe Jack wouldn't be lonely too much longer. And seeing as Dad wasn't around, it fell to me to make sure Jack looked after my little sister.


End file.
